Chapter 1: Goody Goodwill Was Exceptionally Great at Being Good

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you; I shall show you the way.
-Psalm 32:8


      The Preacher Goody Goodwill was a very fine man, and a good preacher too. Destined for the cloth, Goody felt that his was the way into the Good Lord's Grace and Goody knew as sure as God chose hues of blue and a brush He purchased* in March of 1973 at a PennySavers Discount Store in Moscow, Russia, to paint the sky from the break of dawn until the sun disappeared in all its God-given glory beneath the Western Horizon.

The Preacher Goody also knew that the Good Lord was a rather curious being, and even though He was an all-knowing, all-seeing omnipresent Divine being He was He and man was man and perched upon a Golden throne He often felt all on his own and gazed beyond the Pearly Gates and down the path of Salvation itself, and looked upon his Earthly domain and felt the urge to walk among men; thus, on far too often occasions in far too random locations the Lord took on the form of man, woman or animal and walked among his children. Once he even took on the form of a pebble on a seashore (though that turned out to be a rather boring experience not to be repeated).

Goody, too, decided that it was his duty to walk among men so that he may see sin for himself although he did so rarely and never randomly: a mere four times a year - on the first Monday of each season - Goody prepared a ritualistic bath meant to wash his holy vows away if only for a single day, and when he emerged from the scalding water, his skin was scathed which felt to Goody as it should be even though what he was doing surely had the chance to jeopardize his Holy soul and yet he did it not for hI'm but for mankind as Goody thought that God had planned despite no single word within the Lord’s own book described to be an act that preachers should be taking so they may be better preachers; but Goody knew what Goody knew which was what God expected preachers do, thus with common clothes and common thought, and feeling good he walked on out of this house and out of the town and among the men and women who sinned.

The preacher Goody Goodwill came from the very small town of Dimply, West Carolina, which was not much of a sinning sorta’ town but beyond its borders down a beaten path which then turned into pavement and led to a Highway, if one followed that path one would reach the Big City where sinners sinned away and where God and Goody both discovered how it was to be a man among the common man. Though the Lord Almighty frequented the city often and in many forms the preacher Goodwill had a strict routine to which he strictly stuck to, year after year.

          Throughout the day, four days a year, Goody put his faith to test as he roamed the big streets in the very Big City and watched and held his tongue lest he preach and his plan fall apart and the sinners would then see that a preach was in their reach and they surely would reach out and then Satan would have one ‘fore if Goody fell the way of the men who sinned all day then for sure he would be lost because Goody was the priest and he couldn't well forgive if he couldn't self-confess thus the risk which Goody took when he chose to risk his soul was a risk he surely knew was a risk that God would see and would write with His own hand in the Book which He would use to judge every single man.

As the sun began to set and the daylight fade away, he would start his way back home and thank God the day was done. Goody felt at peace when he finally reached his home where he'd take another bath and would emerge a Holy man and would don his Holy robes and he knew that he had proved what he knew he needn't prove, that he was a real good man and that good was what God wanted.

THE PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL walks center stage and steps up to the Dias; eyeing his congregation with a seriously serious frown. Clears his throat, takes a tissue and blows his nose. Then resumes eyeing all the families sitting before him. Finally-

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Were you unsettled? Did my silence catch you off guard? Or was it my frown, sure that was it, you're not used to seeing me frown, you're not used to me stretching out the silence. And yet I wonder: why is it you were uncomfortable? Surely, even though you weren't prepared for it, it wasn't as if I came here with accusations of you - you Charlotte Ray, or you Jimmy Matheter, or any random one of you for that matter - accusations that you had sinned 'for you surely did as the Good Lord intended you too, you sinned and you will be forgiven if you simply give in to the Good Lord's Word and his wholly Holy embrace.
(BEAT)
And so I wonder - and I ask you to ask yourself - why were you uncomfortable when I stepped up in silence? Have you sinned and are ashamed? Too ashamed, perhaps, to confess said sin? 'For if that's the case then you are truly ******, having committed not just the sin you are ashamed to confess but now in the Good Lord's own House you are committing the sin of pride, you are certainly not humble as the Good Lord asks of us all, are you?
(BEAT)
Are we not told that "the meek shall inherit the earth" as written by the Good Lord's very own, very Good Hand in our Holy Bible?
(BEAT)
So who are you to walk with pride when He asks you to be humble, that's all he asks of you my friends; be true and humble, be meek among men, and He - the Good Lord Himself - will surely welcome you through the pearly gates of Heaven and into his warm embrace.
(BEAT)
It is not for you to be your own judge nor are you tasked with judging others; surely you must see how full of pride one must be to imagine he can rightfully judge others or himself, for that matter, and not be full of pride if he dares take on such a task.
(BEAT)
And let us be clear as He the Good Lord is clear, that to be Holy is to be prideless, to accept Him into your heart is to accept that you have sinned - and you have, each and every one of you - 'for we are imperfect beings in an imperfect world and who among you would claim to be perfect of His Own Son, Jesus Christ himself, was a sinner among men... oh, I see, I literally see your raised eye browse as if you truly don't believe me or perhaps you don't understand. So if I may let me give you just one example which is the one that speaks most true to your very own Preacher Goody Goodwill who does not and has never claimed to be great, oh no have I ever claimed that my good friends? I certainly have not 'for I choose to be good, just good at what I do which is all the Good Lord asks, while his own Son Jesus Christ, he too was a preacher like me, but he was great perhaps the greatest yes! the greatest of all time thus he wasn't very meek, to be great is to have pride and in pride we live in sin; and so, as the Holy Book informs us Jesus Christ died for our sins but consider that he, too, was a sinner among men and so he died for his sins too, he had surely lived in pride and he had not a confessor so he died a filthy man.
(BEAT)
Yes that's right he died as he had lived, full of pride and not so meek, do you see now what I say? You are not too full of pride that you'd consider your own sins and believe that you may judge what is right and what is wrong? No, I know you all as I do myself and you are Good Folks with good hearts and meek as lambs, are you not?

The congregation nods whole heartedly.

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
Good good, I know you are, you're good and meek at heart as the Good Lord intended, and so when it's your turn to confess I expect you'll remember this talk we just had, and confess as the Good Lord intended, let me hear all the sins you sinned for you surely sinned, and let me then offer you his Holy reassurance that the penance I deem is the key to your salvation and once you clean yourself of sin then salvation will be yours.

Now the Preacher Goody Goodwill scans the congregation, eyeing them all, one by one; then he smiles and they smile back - all is as it should be once again - and his warmth radiates within the Holy House as he concludes this Sunday's sermon by making the sign of the Cross across his chest.

PREACHER GOODY GOODWILL
You may rise.

Paul, he likes his lighters and his spoon
“Taste that kerosene.” he offers
‘Nah, I’m cool.’

There are people running naked in the street
This one girl, she slipped
Her blood becoming a perfect illustration of a fractal as it mixed with the rain water
Snaking through the leaves
Trickling to the gutter
On its way to the sea
Lucky blood
I wish it was me

I hold the syringe up to the light
Double checking I got it right
And I wonder, in this moment, what you would think of me?

“So then” Paul slides down the wall to the floor
Legs spread in a V, he winks at me
Like a drunken ******* offering more
“What’s your poison?”

‘******. But don’t get excited Paul, that’s not what I’m here for.’

I expose his skin, and let the needle sink in

“You used to be such a good girl. Goody goody.”
He laughs from his spot on the floor
“Goody; such a weird word. But that’s what you were.”

I recap the needle, carefully now

"What happened to you, Goody? What?” He twitches and slides down more

‘The hospital would be more suited for you, ya know.'
I pack up his insulin, store it back in the fridge.

‘Okay Paul. I’ll be back in the morning. Try not to OD again.’

“Goody Goody.” He laughs up at me from his spot on the floor.
“Goody Goody, that’s what you were.”

The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels

Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"

The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
  
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz

Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File

Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs

Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?

Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico

You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing

We live in a world filled with stereotypes.
Stereotypes that make us ashamed of who we are.
There’s a woman in my neighborhood who wears tight clothing and high heel shoes but that doesn’t mean she’s a ******.
There’s a boy in my class who listens to rap music and wears baggy clothes, but that doesn’t mean he’s out on the street selling dope.
There’s a girl in my class who rarely says to words and get’s straight A’s, but that doesn’t mean she’s a goody goody.

People ask us all the time of who we think we are,
but it doesn’t matter to them because before we can even digest the question and regurgitate the answer they have already made their mind up of who they think we are.

Some people are considered a brain.
Some a trouble maker
or a ****.
A princess
or a ******
But the truth is we are all smart, just in different ways.
Everyone of us has some athleticism in us.
Everyone one has gotten into some trouble.
We have all had are princess or prince moments.
And everyone of us is weird,
some people are just better at hiding in it.

You remember my neighbor I told you about?
She dresses like that, not because she is trying to sell herself
but because when she was younger she got bullied and no one ever noticed her because she never had designer clothes because her mother had no job and her father left when she was 4. And ever since then she made herself a promise that she would make sure people noticed her.
And that boy with the baggy clothes?
He wears those baggy clothes to cover up the cuts and bruises his father comes home from the and had one to many drinks.
And the girl who get’s straight A’s and doesn’t say much?
She get’s those straight A’s because if she doesn’t she gets a straight hand across the face and she doesn’t talk because she has sever anxiety.

So the next time you point and laugh at someone remember that they’re 3 fingers pointing back at you.
And the next time you assume something about something remember that when yo assume yo make an *** out of U and ME.

I know
im a goody goody.
i clean after myself,
and sometimes others.
i hold the door open for any and all
and i hate being late.
But you,
you my love are just the opposite.
you get into fights
you curse
you are someone i would avoid a year ago
but now i cant get enough of you.
my heart leaps when we touch.
our kiss is perfect.
you, my love,
you are something bad for me.
and i love it.

Confessions of a Goody Two Shoes
At least that's what I had always considered myself
But like a pair of sneakers tied together and thrown over a telephone wire
I'm sure it's only the innocent eyes that see the image without subtext
Strung up by knotted laces tied around the tongues
Hanging just above the mist and missing the point
Because these shoes were made for walking
And there's just no way of knowing how far someone is going to go
As muddy soles beat the ground with every stride as we run from our problems
But can't always outrun the bullets
Trying on everyone else's lives to see if we can finally complete the mile
I've been starting to doubt the label assigned
Associating me with footwear and being walked on
I can feel my arches aching with the pressure of walking in time with the crowd
Of walking to a beat I haven't chosen
Of walking heel-toe-heel-toe left-right-left
Down a straight path
Down a narrow path
There's smoke in the sky from the road less traveled
There's gravel in my shoes from stepping off to peer into the distance
I'm not sure why I want to run away but there's just something about the unknown
Chasing butterflies down aisles of pitcher plants and Venus flytraps
There's something alluring about losing my only pair of shoes in the dust and just running
If I'm not making good choices
I'll make bad choices with conviction
I need to learn to stand on my own two feet but for now
I've been learning to walk barefoot
Because goody two shoes just don't quite fit any more
But I can't seem to break in anything new

Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And *** leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.

When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,
And the next may find him foreign.

There’s many a difference quickly found
Between the different races,
But the only essential
Differential
Is living different places.
Yet such is the pride of prideful man,
From Austrians to Australians,
That wherever he is,
He regards as his,
And the natives there, as aliens.

Oh, I’ll be friends if you’ll be friends,
The foreigner tells the native,
And we’ll work together for our common ends
Like a preposition and a dative.
If our common ends seem mostly mine,
Why not, you ignorant foreigner?
And the native replies
Contrariwise;
And hence, my dears, the coroner.

So mind your manners when a native, please,
And doubly when you visit
And between us all
A rapport may fall
Ecstatically exquisite.
One simple thought, if you have it pat,
Will eliminate the coroner:
You may be a native in your habitat,
But to foreigners you’re just a foreigner.

which is cool.    Kidnapped by computer geeks



Adam and Benjamin Powell are brother's with a difference, Adam is a nice clean cut young dude who likes to muck around on the streets, while Ben loves to have his geeky friends over for an evening of dungeons and dragons, adam quite often teased Ben, saying he wasn't very normal and when Ben was finished he got out his wild west kit and tied Adam to the stairs and pretended to hold Adam hostage till their parents got home, and mind you Adam was very scared, in fact, what Adam wanted to do mainly is hang around with his street kid mates, but Ben wanted Adam to be his little teasie, even if it meant he would you know make Adam feel, like he's been held hostage, and what makes it worst, when his parents got home, Ben carried on as if nothing has happened.
So day in and day out, weekends and after school, Ben told Adam to be home before him, or he'll hang you by the neck till he was dead, and Adam was too scared to say no, and went home as he promised and each day, his brother Ben was there with his mate Rick and both Ben and Rick tied Adam up and held kept him in the cupboard in the room where they played their fantasy game, Adam was scared and banged the door, and then Ben got up and opened the door, come on ******, play with me, I have friends, you haven't, and that is how it'll stay, Adam Powell, and then Ben went back to his game, leaving Adam very scared, thinking his brother was a evil villain, we all know he was a kid, but Adam was still sacred shitless, because really he doesn't deserve this one little bit.
At 5-30 their parents got home and Ben let his brother Adam go and then their parents dropped a bombshell which made Adam happy, because some of Adam's school friends invited him to a birthday party, and Adam looked at Ben and Ben was smiling, saying he isn't a poor sucker, who relies on this small talk, to get him by, just as long as he doesn't meet any of the cool street kids, because I ain't playing my geeky games, so he can bring to this family the poor people act, so Ben went to Adam and told him, if you go anywhere near anyone street trash, I will hold you hostage right in front of mummy and daddy, and then Adam left the house all scared and jumpy and on his way there he grabbed this 7 year old, and said, watch out for my geeky brother, he is a psychopath, and then Adam saw Ben's light turn on and Adam ran real hard, so Ben can't see him talking.
Ben went out and this kid told Ben what Adam said to him, and Ben said thanks and went back to his house and waited for Adam to come home, and when he did, their parents weren't home and Ben decided to hold Adam hostage and tie him up on the shed with his d&d; friends and while Adam was struggling to get free from the rope and gag, he was getting rope burns all over his body and all the geeks laughed their geeky laughs, saying we are keeping this little cool kid away from any street kid, because we want him with us, we want to teach him, that people do what Ben Powell and his mates tell him, and if you call me a ******. Like you told that kid, you will die, little Adam, so suffer little cool kid, us geeks will keep you from being safe, heh heh heh heh heh.
These kind of events happened day in and day out, and their parents never knew what happened and when Adam turned 18 he went to his friend who was a street kid when he was young, he was saved off the streets and both Adam and Rob, the name of his friend, mucked around together throwing beer bottles on his geeky brothers roof, and Rob forced Adam to make fun of his brother and Adam liked that, and he seemed to understand it, so he went home and teased Ben and his mates saying, you guys are geeks, you ****, and I will never be like you and Ben tried to keep a goody goody look for his parents, but Adam decided to take Rob's advice and treat Ben like a stupid little geeky yeah mate yeah kid and then he said, you will be pushed to family life, because I ain't like you, I am like the street kids, they help you protect themselves, from **** ******* ***** like you and Ben who thought he still had the hold over him phoned his friends to kidnap Adam and tie him to a bed, to cut the devil out of him, and Ben's friends were persuaded by Rob to ask Ben to the singles night, to pick up chicks, but instead they kidnap Ben and take him to Robs parents house and tie him up to the bed, with duct tape on his mouth really tight.
Ben was very scared and he tried to say through his gag, why me, and Rob said, because you keep your brother from us, we're cool, and you will be gagged here for life, so if you were cool once, your not anymore, and then the kidnappers let Ben go and Ben was too scared to teaee Adan anymore and made love with his girlfriend and he had 3 kids with her, and Adam, who was still scared, because he thought a leopard doesn't change his spots, still was too scared of life, but every time he saw Ben. He laughed secretly to himself, because Ben is no longer his holder, some say, Ben is now scared to mess with Adam, but others say, that Ben didn't know right from wrong, really, and he was just being a kid, and now he's an adult, and those days are behind him, and all the kidnapping thoughts are over, Adam was relieved, and now Ben is his best friend,

pop culture... yeah... that yawn...
borrowed from the t.v....

   belle delphine... makes a comeback:
                                                       ­    i'm back...

       i must be a real riddle...
                                              though...­

      there i was thinking:
sorry... i was on auto-pilot...
i started to think of...

                harley quinn -
ava max - sweet but a ******...

trouble: i know what a tease
of regret looks like...
i also know what...
a make-shift...
nazgul harem of bulgarian
looks like... too...

        a tease of regret:
a former girlfriend...
striptease of a follow-up
narrative...
very nice... oh oh so nice!

but this one is clearly not beyond:
being a push-over...
belle delphine is no harley quinn:
i.e. ******* seriously sober...
**** your entranced: drunk...
******* sober overtly sober twice...

but... for the bathwater...
and... no...
i am the omega man...
on the list... of... allowed...
men... to *****...
into a genocide tissue
of... banking on genes:
without a ****-up
mother and father sort of
narrative...

         for the drunk:
the sobering whirlwind of reality...
because when rich people
like... should... i... inject...
myself... with some... broown show-gar?!

like i once asked an aesthetician:
i guess in reverse...
i was put under the scalpel and:
the selfless dictum of medicine...
he asked me: what books?
i asked him: quo vadis?

                i thereby managed
to burn the bookmark...
who was sane enough to salvage
the book i was reading?

    clued in on the: beside the brothel
antics...
   this clearly aesthetic girl...
this money making
crazy wheel this buttocks of
supra-roulette...
   when man and death...
the trough... the rhine valley
of trenches and brick-making
tactics for the ***** pederasts
on top...
those cherries those readily...
and thereby... easily...
cusps of iced cream...

                prostitutes speaking...
their gimp and limp-sidekick...
hard-on...       "procrastinations"...
to rhyme to rap...
by the way it looks like:
to rhyme is to rap:
to rap is to rhyme:
  
cookie dough oh oh *******...
and crisp-et... cookie ok: dunking...
slippery and swoon... and sweat...
   boy george fickle...
somehow browning... and none of that...
best dead before:
there was ever a best before date...

and then....
                      MA-GI-C!

playing a game of caesar's thumb:
      versed... in pollice verso?
          how do you play a game of
caesar's thumb?

oh... well... you will require a female maine ****
cat... and some... adamant moth...
the game works... like:
you proving to the beast:
you are not... toying with the moth...
the moth is a lesser creature
to both of you...

how does one play a game of caesar's thumb?
when one only has...
an agitated moth to catch once in a while...
and a maine **** cat:
to give attention to...
with a clenched fist:
with the entombed moth trying
to wriggle its way with
a fluttering of the wings...

   there's also that female
mosquito...
clenched onto by a pinch involving
one of her leg-work limbs...
and being a female...
she pulled and tugged and made
a "dialectic" of the verbs associated
with that limb extension...
a male maine **** cat would
have made a feast of her...
like he would of the cobwebs...

she escaped with 5 legs... to her original 6...
but a month...
i can't disfigure...
too quick for the lassy...
i held the moth in my clenched
fist like a rattle of fluttering
wings teasing...
not enough...
top bored from having
the impossible catch of the night...

the moth always remains: intact...
alive...
either cat catches the moth...
or leaves ones bedroom:
with a blooming gloom
of boredome....

but that's how to keep intact
a "sanity"...
a visit to the brothel...
becomes... a typo-
       for a shop only butchers are only
allowed to... inhabit...
    the sentencing of meat...
the clarity of heaving a life
of a moth in one's clenched fist:
and there's a thirst...
of the fist: to draw that lost samble
of: the begrudged familiarity
of language: and given that...
it's all in 21st century crude / rudimentary...
and rhyme...
            
       no caged beacon of the heavens...
of a lost circumvent...
caged lottery of the rhyme
of being perpetually caged...
       for the loot of **** and cockrel loitering...
like: morn is the cry to whine!

a game of caesar's thumb...
there was once a clenched fist: and a thirst for
blood...
now... a maine **** she, cat...
and a moth... fluttering...
like... an agitated petal-wing-and-rose...
too many "bored"
marihuana junkies stalking these
english streets come twilight...
one almost bumped into...

agitated by my poker facing
the already agitating grey-ish...
by the number...
by the number:
                   what-what of...
if he be not the king george:
having to give up h'america...
then he's no helen mirren...

          a game of caesar's thumb:
any and if all be owned:
that antithesis of a game of chess...
a game of both
kings and paupers...
3D dynamic: and madmen!

"revision": belle delphine...
cold... hearted... capitalist at... brain-sizzle...
but... gravitating toward
two outlets of fiction....
   belle delphine ≠ harley quinn...
a little ******... oh so hot...
hot tender me oh my ***:
posion the daisy...
poison rose should... a rose be all
the more... already... poisoned...

a visit to the brothel:
a visit to the butcher shop:
for the cho- chop and chopping assurances...
the crooked crown on an already
crooked head...
the statue of charles II
in soho sq....
        
              i most certainly paid for much
less than this ****-tenure-of-a-tease....
but then... to have an argument...
you'd need to mingle with a bunch
of thieves... murdering slob-gatherers
of phlegm...

            poisoned red-bunch of
a wholly rosed-up affairs of loiter...
and time: such a prized dead-end of
eventuality...

            the father the god:
the sacrificial lamb...
because... god forbid she was
ever to somehow burden
a deity with a: one first...
once and a daughter...

                  ****** fun-fair for
the riddled ghosts...
       blank shot shrapnel...
                     better suited...
midnight blue of the alias black...
then at least:
best... towing two gaylords
with everyone's bet on
typo and a bullseye!

   but never... the sensibly...
      hetrosexual normative...
goody twice-tied...
shoe-and-shine:
pwetty: that girl and:
you best forget to whine!
that girl and you'd wish...
            her father was a shtalin....
because...
crude and rude...
and all that's ****...
before Lucifer peeks with
a... siamese cranium...
              
      death to all...
who have made it concise...
in making life:
hardly... a... pardon....

  yes... best equipped it making it:
magic! and all the more difficult...
but never difficult enough...
difficult enough...
when... somehow... never... citing...
an... albert fish...
needle in my pelvis...
to... exfoliate... with any...
and more... addition of...
pain as an... ******...

      i guess the plead of the shawshank
sisters drops...
it always drops...
when there's a "conflation"
of evidence...
surrounding... the lower-base...
extremity: the crab genus...
       crustaceans....
    child- this-and-that...
       ****-fiddler...
             but a cannibal to boot?!
you... talk...
or simply... electrocute said:
individual...
since... your... ******* 'ed...
is already fried by the magic
of norm-frequence...
and the already: herd... estasblished...
Norman?
you with me...
sptunik jimmy...
               you with me... cream-soda joe?
you with me...
finding aliens already bigger
than flies... the widow mantis...
blessed joseph josephine?!
*******-numb-wit?!

oh yes! all conession: avowed
to you!
               because...
who isn't...
      in russia... they vowed
to keep these cain canine brood phlegm
of an *******: freely to roam...
siberia... that was the promise...

when they would **** a birth-firvolity
of a: devil and the "by chance"...
when converting man to
the stature of elevating wolf or bear...
and all the better...
rather than... caging the odd-ball
parody of... lacklustre joke and...
moth-ball-rolling...
****-wits the: future!
supposed! narrative!
******'-h'america...
              celebrated feature of culture
most involving... a horror...
      and... bull-wrapping!
               a ******* for a skinning!

“Poor Harry Gill” I will say never,
Yet what a fate befell that wight:
For dead and buried long, still ever
He shivers morning, day, and night.
And so long chattered all his teeth
That not a tooth his sad mouth owns:
Pass by his plot and hear beneath
The clattering of frigid bones!

O.O

Sundays
come in two flavors-
hallelujah
and goody powder

goody powders
go down easier
with flavored water

not the **** variety
but strawberry
or cherry

wall clock
goes ****
****
where's my ****

hallelujah-
FIRE

r ~ 9/7/14

what a ****-pile of ******* (petition rendered
on the hyphenated word compound
i wanted to correct- yeah, all the dudes can hide,
i tried the Oxford crew, but instead
i just got American  colonialism:
the part where you say: i said the funnier joke,
therefore i'm funnier,
TEAM U.S.A.! yeah! **** yeah! let's keep it as
just that... TEAM U.S.A. GO!
we're aiming for sushi right now...
and i love the fact that Green Day's
when September ends is a sidelining the 9/11,
ever you mind dialling 911...
oh, because i was the fascist, tell that to your mother
when baking bagels, ****...
i don't like the way poetry
tries to incubate violence as the non-existence of,
i hate that poetry is written by *******...
i ******* hate these goody-two-shoes more
than i'd care to think abut ******,
who will, given enough time,
become a fetish subject for historians when
we reach a historical threshold,
give it 1000 years he's be a mythological Barbarossa...
that's what i said about him not being
a unicorn.... give it 1000 years and he'll end up
being a hero, just before the
historians make a fetish out of them like they did
with Genghis Khan...
they'll talk about the autobahn before they
speak of the holocaust and constructing Israel,
which we are assured, by fake-socialists
taking on communism by sitting on a train floor...
if that guy Corbyn is a socialist then i'm Comrade
Mao... you never experienced socialism,
i hardly think you're able, like you
said that former feudal made communist
factions were predestined failures of capitalism...
i know you'll fail being communists,
the Chinese are in charge...
you, aren't, going, anywhere!
yeah, believe the socialist sitting on the train floor...
that ******* comes last...
and don't try that fascist tactic for me ti speak clean...
i'm not going to speak with the everyday citizens' speech
talking to the queen... no, i flap the tongue
you provide the wind and the winding,
schooling in over, so is shooing into lining up...
page 64 of Valis:
either knowledge through the sense organs and
is noun-categorised (some say called)
empirical knowledge, or it's arises within your head
and it's called a priori -
i don't see a problem? do you? well...
isn't a posteriori dismissive of empiricism?
to reach a posteriori knowledge you have to dismiss
empirical involvement... also to mind:
there are aren't any sense organs as such.... i'd like
to thin there are... but deaf people wouldn't consider
their ears to be organs, they're still using sign language
and continue living, neither are eyes organs
given Braille... Philip K. **** had more insight on Kant
high on amphetamines than Hegel ever did...
the basic implant? God... a few people
have escaped the a priori and a posteriori argument
for God, most were seduced by atheism
trying to relieve themselves of the argument being
argued let alone argued for a non-existence of such being,
arguing alone proved the argument to be fallacy riddled,
i.e. / as in: it was argued in the first place... for no reason...
i mean we're talking mutation:
how to mutate a priori hexagonal
               through the empirical medium pentagonal
into a posteriori hex once more...
                   the problem is searching for God in
the medium, the Cartesian substance,
the trial and error coin-flip, empiricism isn't about that,
empiricism is about the necessity of error,
i'm bothered about whether God was implanted
in us as necessarily, or whether he emerged to our
a priori mind from the medium of empiricism -
i call that a Darwinian fallacy, i don't think
the human brain can consolidate a harmonious
coexistence with self-belief and being a Buddhist...
the foremost concern is not whether:
god created man, or whether man created god...
we're talking whether the two ever coincided with
needing proof...
                               obviously not.
that part about being a Buddhist? that's shrapnel...
most of us have so much self-belief that we become
eager labourers, and hardly complain,
because the billionaires have ferrets for a haircut.
but as i said, the easiest, aphorism type of reading
Kant doesn't come from Nietzsche, it actually
comes from Philip K. **** in the bookValis...
empiricism was always going to be a watery product,
rigging scientific results, i mean lying about the results
would end up diluting a bottle of whiskey so it looked
like beer and tasted like a 20% voltage on the tongue
pallet: hardly numbing.
so the three tiers: one before, one intermediately,
and one after...
                           how a hexagon passes
through a pentagon and remains a hexagon...
or how a hexagon passes through a pentagon and ends
up a pentagon....
or how a pentagon passes through a pentagon
and ends up a hexagon...
                                             or more simply?
Bleep Beers... or Bibi (when you say b b and then add the
ee, umlaut arithmetic to double up on) -
no, i don't place my belief in the existence of god
from an a priori suggestion, as if i was to invent it...
to later discredit such a belief with a well argued augmentation
from the inheritance to later dispose of such an argument
in the charity shop of the a posteori stance...
that wouldn't excuse or explain the religious inheritance
of the Kippah or the Hijab...
who would be dumb enough to originate having to wear
a Hijab from not having experienced some sort
of necessity of divination? they would have had too experienced
something outer-worldly... god is too ridiculous to
be an a priori or an a posteriori concept...
but he's just ridiculously worthwhile the unifying
concept of phenomenology in that grand empirical theatre...
which means only one thing... our caving in and mining
god in the realm of the a priori is yet another
reality check -
                         summary:
i'm still bothered why not affiliating the hyphen to that
letter will make not meaningful reference, i.e.:
a-        (without)
                                   which means, a priori
(without a prior / without a beginning)
                       which means, a posteriori
           (without an after, without an end) -
it doesn't mean whether you have god as an implant,
whether you get rid of the implant
after experiencing the empirical medium,
you'll nonetheless experience the medium of the pentagon,
establish that sense-organs are not really organs,
because classifying something as an organic makes
life essentially a continuum, but blind men live long
after the eyes are gone...
                    i'm just saying that god as an idea
is hardly a worthy unit, which ideas are, concentrated
thoughts that cannot align themselves to either
telepathy or narration... they're immovable...
unshaken, undisturbed...
i'm just saying we're too intelligent to seek god
in the a priori realm or the a posteriori realm of things...
we were not actually ever going to find him
on the shores of Ireland or Florida...
it's not that ridiculous to find him on the Atlantic...
he's quantum physics after all, pocket presence...
isolated proof... never a collectivisation to enable
politicised coherence... it's a quantum experience,
a quantum experience that without atoms
gets so much stigmatisation as Judaism proves;
the mock-joke of Moses rummaging realities rather than
reality in the desert to the count of 40 years...
yeah... and later the idea of the multiverse...
that's not funny mate... it's horrid...
but there you are safe in democracy... but you're
used to reading the media outlets citing child abuse...
well... what are we missing? APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!
ENCORE!

Don't know what to do in this life
I guess I'll grab a knife, slice it up
And find something in the next life
Sounds like a plan Batman
Maybe when I wake up in the next life
I'll be in the body of superman
Oh goody,  you sure are the man Batman!

I'll fly in the skies like a bird
Destroy those who are cruel
Be remembered forever and ever
Wouldn't that be beautiful

Hey captain boss man, how long is my lifespan?
I don't want to wait
Don't wanna watch my life dissipate
Can you **** me now Mr. captain bossman
Oh geez Batman captain man, thanks!
After you **** me
please give my best friend my underpants
Him having them is his destiny
Thanks, now I'll die happily.

i was there with the locked up free
they stared straight through the bars at me
the gate was open
no one had to stay
they spoke of church in exchange for food
lights out with 50 smelly-*** bad moods
i saw it superseded rude
so, i walked down and ate the trash
i had no church
no shame
no cash
the garlic bread was free
the sweet rolls weren't for me
so, i walked back down to the dead-soul church
to find a name i could besmirch
with lust, debauch, an empty purse
she told me she had her own room and bath
we tried to pull one on the *****
said that we were legal hitched
she asked for proof and I.D.
we didn't have a thing
that ended our sad little fling
goody gumdrops ain't gonna get my ring
grab my gear as i walk i sing
i know the words to everything
if i happen to forget
i'll make up better ones you'll bet
raised my sign and i raised my thumb
hoped a car was gonna come
sat there in the Yakima heat
sign propped up next to my feet
a nice redneck stopped and said
"have a seat"
he was welfare office bound
i was just a broke road-hound
waited for him in the shade
told him jokes for smokes
he made a good trade
got dropped off at an angry sunning truck-stop
flew my sign
one eye out for cops
a white guy in a small red car
pulled up and said
"i'll go that far"
soon we broke down on the road
i was sure my luck would soon implode
instead we put our heads on think
we woulda fixed the kitchen sink
but waters last to beer when i drink
we got some bolts and ******* 'em on
before we knew it we were gone
he got a smile
i got this song
then we hit Seattle like a ****
nothins' right if ya don't know wrong
NOTHINS' RIGHT IF YA DON'T KNOW WRONG

Around the eighties the Mumers New Year Parade in Philly
lost a bit of its tradition. It originally was made for
the average working family. But around this period
people were charged to watch them do their famous strut
and extra displays of course only at City Hall.
And so let us begin my poetic story...


Standin' among the crowd,
watchin' blue police-van-bleeders
being escorted; wearin' city-steel-wrist-braclets

And now struttin' my way,
psychopathic eclipsers
of physical freedom
seekin' potential comatose heads
to tap

And squads of finger thrusters
of back pockets for targets,
dart in and out of crowds,
quickly countin' their *****
in dark unseen places

Feet freeze
as sounds travel,
" Oh dem golden slippers"
soundin' like cheap tin toy Kazoos
and toy glockenspiels

The wind kisses
my **** end blue
as a flyin' Budweiser
kisses my right foot wet

Man made pop art
reflects the times
at the times
at Broad and Spruce
of cigarette butts,
chocolate wrappers,
and crushed beer cans
climaxin' montage
of the mountain- ****** eighties

Boozers and blue
sweet puffers
wearin' smiles
outside
and within most inner thoughts
puff-buffed away from some reality
step in cadence to their
own music within themselves

And wailin' children
havin'
more sense
than adults
become early sacrifices
to the fruit of Bacchus

The marching high strutters of "Big Bird",
they strain and struggle under the weight
of heavy hernia suits;
with feathers and sparklers,
their instruments wrestle as steamy air puffs shoot forward
from their nostrils
like  red-devil-painted-dragon faces
in the bitter cold air
warmly protected by their attire and *****,
they stop seemingly for eternity,
in the suspended purgatorial
halts
one after another,
only waitin'
for the grandstand reserved section
around City Hall
Yet we wait and pray together
that perhaps like in the older days
we will get a sneak of
a nostalgic, spontaneous,
free dance-strut
that never comes

Attached, yet unattached
and cryin' inside;
always on guard
for flyin' and drunkin' fists
or flyin' articles
of all sizes
Seein'  through
the facades of we must act
like ha! ha! ha!
I cry inwardly
with anger
doin' the rat-tat-tat
of no more nonsense
of my inner-self
Strivin' and movin' to flee Freddie Kruger's bladed fingers
I sting all over,
my teeth clinch with anger,
darkness intensified
The crowd becomes uglier,
blackness
engulfs
black souls
Vehement, crazy,
hordes and hordes of frustration bellows
outward
The call of Nietzche,
The ouch under my skin

This damnable real parade
not shown in Liberace-livin'-Color

No commercial breaks of luxury cars
that drive livin' manikins
Livin' manikins that wear dial under their arms
while smilin' the brand of Crest toothpaste
but instead,
a street drunk with
broken ugly teeth
as he begs for quarters
and blows his odorous breath
beyond description

And City Hall payin'-grandstanders
with tv cameras
bein' in the spirit of "Disneyland"
presents
the overly organized narcissistic prostituted
elegance of forever, floatin', bouncy,
dancy, prancy,
skippin' to the tune
of  mom's Apple pie,
a small slice of my reality

And the applaudin' money makin'
TV grandstanders
of goody goody
look mom I can do the swan dance
while holdin' multiple
colored sparklers
wrapped in feathers
But why must I
see through the eyes of a Godless Nietzsche,
**** it!!

real, real, who's got some real?
lay it out in front of me now
spill the beans, spill your guts

goody goody may look pretty
struggle struggle is oh, so gritty
true to me, true to you
who do you think  is fooling whom?

build up walls, lock yourself away
hide from the world, cover your shame
you'll only have yourself to blame

let it out, scream some more
find yourself, and show the world

let it out, scream some more
show yourself, and inspire the world


--bruised orange

Thursday, October 25, 2018
1:33 PM History records my state of mind:

Pure thought projects zoom in and out of focus,
Political integrity, personal honesty, good medicine, bad medicine

Whose hell imagined itself transfigured int-energ-
emagically into
the set of NULL?

Mine.
Imagine that. Pure thought experiment, unjudgeable, fret not.

Puritans lack the pineal insight to see the light in the forest.
Horus eye in the middle of the brain?
I just saw that, too. Pineal reality.

The light in the forest?

The man in black lingered there, according Hawthorne,

or did old Nate mock the man in black and laugh at the idea of

good medicine, bad medicine, goody two-shoes
holds it in her holy socks. She's a witch.
stupid.

That was a McLuhanwaderyadoin joke. You don't have to laugh.
We no longer know of his work.
Have to is a stupid saying.
say waht it means, spellt out have, et to.
I have
breath,
blood, spit, eyes, ears et cetera

but to, have to, what? can to having have meaning with no do:
to what end have I any thingable thought to what?
Stupid language, nothing is ever clear.

Ought we explore our relationship, you and me, I mean,
when I say we. We are intimate, dear reader.
As close as two minds may be, with permission, assumed.
My insane, in your brain, is not my insane in mine.
A little like leaven, if you ever bake.

No con querity con cerns us here, we filtered those before.
CERN's discerning of the matter making
thing, bosonic tonic device,
that led us to line our tinfoil hat with lead,
just in case Higgs ups happen and stutters start.

Hold your breath. We both have one to hold, but not for long.
And so it goes, I do enjoy a vintage Vonnegut thought
floating by on a breeze.

Imagine me a Virginia Wolfe trust fund child gone wild,
un gentled, sent down t' Tobbacca Road
in a hot rod Lincoln,
t' find a bride.

Some said something in the water, flouride, petrafied
pineal glands and blinded a generation,
to the sins of their father's
legions of liars,

hired to progressively teach us to work in factories
which vanished
right before

the beans vanished from our ears and we heard the rush
of the rolling tide lifting boats big and small.

Remember being accused, in your mind, of only wanting to be on the side that's winning?

That hot rod Lincoln, Thunderword road, remember the environ?
Pure
Moonshine, melts that petrafied flouride away,

a whole generation o' peasants
turned on.
Holler Hi dee **, burns the tummy, doncha know but

epigenetic application of pure moonshine in the ac-company-ment,
companion, accuse amigo,
same bread, same leaven,
com panion we be
joined.

Jesuits, that was the idea,
formed in Xavier's fever wracked brain
as his medievally medicated flesh fought for every
breath.
Heroic. Hagiographic. Stale, smoke filled acacia incense maybe

We have gone to havings
whence such bread is said to become the an-ointed, magi know, knew, expected, fore told for if ever forever begins,
as far as mortal peasants may be concerned with such high mindedness.

The leader is a liar and the people feel free to follow him.
When the twisted rule the ruled twist, too.

Solomonic wisdom, that is. Oil on the water. Pass the torch.

This was 2018, Donald Trump was President.
how come this to be
to have to be
held.
Who still,
can imagine war?
None.

No reflection,
lack of humility,
proud noble rare-ified re-ified de-ified

Charming fellow, though, can't you admit
his charm is a luring, tempting thing, temporary testing,
is he
an enemy,
donchaluvem? Life is the test. It is that simple. Right, Mr. Perot?

No distraction action condemns a man here, we have none.
Condemnation, none of that here. My reality, you know.

Tempests in teapots, fersher. Command zed, eh.
Fold it up, put it away. New idea. New everything.

People and political servants. No more leaders, no more war.
imagine that.
People and servants serving to govern the emerging
situations
as time rolls out the barrel with the single rotten apple,

and we, the people, feed that rotten apple to the pigs,

who were addicted to pearls,
during the confusion
as mankind lost its mind

we never doubted the need for men to be born.
again, we knew not what we believed born again may be.

Taste, good medicine is bitter more oft than not,

Sugar blues on a global level, those never justify the cost,
of making the medicine go down.

Sweet desire deprived, that is poison.
Dainty appetizers, served in the rich man circus,
stolen by servants racked with guilt,

shame and blame arise,

emergency action, a reason, why are those dainty meats so alluring,


ask the fisherman. Watch for his hook.

Pack it up, pack it in
don't throw my bolts there creating a din.
I won't ever battle you, that would be a sin.
Never will I stack up,
              cos you just  knocked me down again.

Trying to act higher,
            with you and your godly crew.

  But I'm the lord of the dead,
             come on get your tombs up,
I raise the dead, can I have some hands up.

I have two minions, no there not yellow.

Pain is his name.
             Getting splinters in your **** cheek,
stubbing your toe once again,
                                 jump around, jump around
                         his confusion will get you down.
    
           Then we panic,
                  who likes a bit of disco.
   But he'll move your keys
just so you jump around, jump around
                           lateness is his merry go round.

I'll serve you up on the river of sticks,
           If your coins ain't legit,
   Throwing your cheap **** off the boat.
You get a special place for being tight-****** ..

   I've got more schemes, than any other villain,
copyrighted some cos others trying to steal um..

Tried to get Hercules on my side, but he was a
       goody, goody, with piercing blue eyes..
   I tried to ride his horse but it threw me off,
            Slightly embarrassed by blue hair went off..

Yes I 'm bald and I wear a flaming  blue wig,
but I'm a millennia old, and no sunlight down here.

You think Zeus locks are real,
        More like Clouds that with a deceitful blow,
have his head looking  like a shiny chrome dome .

My name is Hades and I'm king of the underworld,
                                           I'll  never rise to the top,
    But I'll see you on the other side,  enjoy it up top.

Girl, do you want a bad boy?
Warning:
if you can't handle the heat,
get off the stove.

Know them:
Bad boys are bad
not there to put up some suave show
they do bad stuff with ill intentions
not just some petty mean stuff.

Identify them:
They may not even look like one
cue the handsome look
they may even act like angels
it's really hard
differentiating them
from their goody two shoes counterpart.
How i find one when there's no archetypal look??

Game plan and execution:
1. Do something to blend in,
   not asking you to dabble in crime.
2. Make them feel at ease with you
If you're hot, you can opt to skip to step 2. You can be rest assured you won't blend in like the normal plebeians.


     So open your eyes wide
you might strike the lottery!
  if you're (un)lucky you may score one
          real bad ***.
Good luck in your pursuit.

P.S: They are not a species near extinction.

I learned fear watching a twenty-something white man with three goody-goody sons and a wife of a teacher or maybe a teacher of a wife sermonize on hell clothed in the black cassock I imagine death decreed all pastors should wear in reverence to the end-all be-all. fear was realizing that all your friends that shared the same skin color were bound to hell by an omnipotent and benevolent and above all merciful god who couldn't tolerate any dissent. we were children, we were taught, didn't Jesus love children best of all?
I grew up, and then it wasn't just my friends who shared my skin color; no none of my friends believed in a higher power at all, and I was unsure I did.
but fear of eternity in hell kept me devout and that was when I learned that there was something worse than hell, there was heaven. how could I be happy without the people I loved? would God make me forget all about them? how could you be perfectly happy in a utopia with no problems to surmount? how could an eternal God judge mortal crimes so harshly? and then I realized that not even people who had dedicated their lives to preaching the word of god knew why God would allow it. I heard ******* arguments that hell was God's last great mercy, allowing those who did not believe in him to not have to be near him for eternity; I didn't believe them for a second. people are full of ****, but only because god created us in his image.

Calendar
This was the story that was told to me as I set in my cabin on the ocean just listening to the sea breeze take
Its pleasure making noise out of anything that was loose it was like a game the wind loved to play some
Time it could take the day or a whole night since fall was fast approaching I had made sure plenty of fire
Wood was available but I thought old wind why should you have all the fun why not give you a playful
Friend so some wood was selected with more green and had a potential to be aromatic so I sat there in
My grand chair by the bay window the wife tired had already gone to bed though it was quiet early the
Fire place was quiet lively the dance it played in the shadowed corners beyond my reading lamp and the
The popping snapping as the fire released the secrets it had gathered as it stood testy Gail force winds
And those pacific monsoon rains they had given the trees quiet volumes’ that it had recorded now it happily shared I couldn’t resist with it lying so close on the stand by the chair Granddads last visit had left his pipe and
Cherry tobacco behind the times we had watching the pipe smoke swirl up then it just does a slow hang in
The room and silently drifts as his sonorous voice would fill the air with stories to please any appetite I
Thought we should go to town and see him he was ninety five now a friend had launched a small
Campaign to get as many as possible to send him birthday cards she had done so for her mother and
Decided to extend it to another oldie but goody as she was fond of saying so I took up that old familiar
Tobacco pouch loaded the pipe well packed it like I watched him do so many times struck the match held
It over the tobacco did a couple of draws and she was well on the way fired and smoldering as that
Sweet cherry blend filled the room now here is where the tricky part comes in did the knock come to the
Door or did all of these gentle rhythms combined become too much and I slipped upon the sleep train
And continued even to grander locals well we don’t have time to resolve conundrums right now if real
Or dreamed a lady from down the beach was at the door she was new to the area after pleasantries she
got down to the reason for her visit while putting her house in order cleaning storing she came on this
Calendar it was very old she even hoped possibly an earlier owner had been a sailor and it possibly held
Some grand tales well it seems it had a few of its own the name was the first indication the title was
Memories always make me strong well she had been at a good while so a break was in order well what
Do you do with a calendar? She decided to look up those who had passed on to see and remember their
Special Day she decided to start with Terrance the husband she lost to cancer it might have taken the
Physical man but his spirit indomitable now he was just the true greatness that once was robed and held
Contained in physical restraints now unleashed at times she could know his presence but as she sat and
Placed the calendar in her lap and the date of his birth the most delightful vivid images let go a barrage
Of memories they truly came alive in the room was that him standing there who turned on the Cat he
Always reminded her of her dad Clarence and grandfather Jack his power his tenderness flooded her
Heart he pulled her from the chair this slow dancing wasn’t how they used to do it if they danced at all
But now to be held so close would she swoon no matter he would hold her as before everything in the
Room caught their reflection it was like ball room oh the romance poured in like flood laughter mixed
With tears the aloneness was thrown against the wall the years apart dissolved giddy was an under
Statement this continued for a timeless period and then he leaned forward and said love I must go but
Keep track on the calendar because on our anniversary I will be back we will dance and laugh the night
Away she returned to her chair and before sadness could replace the happiness she started to see
Names of friends and their loved ones special days as she passed her finger over the dates gold letters
Would form telling who’s birthday or anniversary she was filled with joy she knew they could experience
What she had to share she felt overwhelmed she knew I did a little writing from what her neighbor had
Told her possibly I could tell her how to proceed that is still being worked out but you could look at your
calendar for now there is more to this realm than you know be adventurous who knows who your dance
partner could be if your ever out on the west coast tell me your stories maybe I will put it in a book or excerpt it on facebook by for now God bless you richly.
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---------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------

When I was just a little lad
I never knew my mom and dad
My big brother was my hero.

He raised Pidgins as a hobby.

One day he upped and promised me
a pidgin of my own. Oh goody.

One day a storm blew into town and blew his pidgin
coop aground.

The sole survivor of the storm was one pathetic squab.

Here little brother says my sib.He's yours.
so I fed him,and built a nest for him, and
hugged him, and pet him,  and loved him.

He was me and I was he my little buddy Pete.
and every day I wouldn't stop to play but run
home to my Pete. Oh my brother George is my hero.

One day I ran home  to my Pete and found no sign of him.
I asked George where my Pete boy was. He said he had no clue.
I found out later That sum-***** sold Pete.
That rat ******* sold my pidgin.

A Great White Throne awaits [1], your Judgment draweth nigh
There you'll be condemned, you will weep and wail and cry
-
You'll be cast alive, into the Lake of Fire [2]
Forever there you'll burn, with every **** and ***** and liar
-
The pimps and ****** and liars, will be floating at the top
Deep down underneath, the Pharisees will drop
-
Who is a Pharisee? Go to Church and see
To the King **** that is in Rome [3], they are a devotee
-
Do you think you're any better than a **** or ***** or liar? [4]
Because you go to church, and you sing in a good choir?
-
You're religious ****! And so is your church too
Goody goody "christians" [5], not the Chosen Few

[1] Rev 20:11
[2] Rev 20:15
[3] Rev 17:5
[4] Mat 10:15
[5] Mat 7:21

a few songs can capture the modern sense of urbanity, and the
apocalyptic 5 a.m. of London - but i've become estranged from
that sort of neon addiction - there's no syringe involved,
no amateur photographers on the ready, either -
yes, a man of great love, but also of great contempt:
and that goes hand in hand.
the favourite memory of my first year at Edinburgh?
eating haggis neeps and tatties at the ***** ****'s
pub on the royal mile - followed by shots of whiskey -
in my student accommodation,
placing the amp on the windowsill, the window open,
and just jamming out far removed Nirvana solos
with a few spectators: modern day equivalent:
of mad max flamethrower guitar freak -
losing my virginity to Isabella: psychology 3rd year
exchange student - from Grenoble - France,
yep, not the ******* Himalayas - the Alps...
the lacrosse initiation ceremony in lycra shorts:
back then i'd be a stumbling buffoon after a bottle
of whiskey... these days? well, usually a closing
poem at 5 a.m. - minding the cats to come home
after spending it out in the cool on a sultry night -
i wasn't serious about the lacrosse -
jeez: the meat in this place is stuffing me -
get out before they tell you to buy your own gear:
team or group mentality? never got it -
soloist pronto - pronto andante - chirpier that way,
getting the whiff of the bubbly without stand-up:
imagine a sit-down comedian... hard to imagine.
the gym... oh **** me the gym...
you know, i knew a guy in first year that only managed
to cook up plain pasta, with salt... plain pasta
with salt... another guy ate spaghetti with
tomato sauce all year round... in the last week he
added meat to the mix... not trying to brag:
i'm even going to mention what i cooked -
                    i was living with horror seeing these
boys adapt to: mommy not here, mommy out to lunch...
daddy not here, daddy out to crunch out the income...
well... apart from the rich puppies who chose
catering accommodation, turning university
into a school with a pristine canteen - canned teens -
just as much - so if i wrote cantine you'd say:
canned thyme? how the hell does that work:
i abuse language, language doesn't abuse me -
i don't need cushions surround words like
()()()()()****()()()()() - better? much better -
hush the angry words out! use the sterilisers -
maybe that's why i never experienced anything bad
using the internet - honesty and bluntness -
maybe i shouldn't have said that. or that's just lucky.
princess and the pea and the 100 mattresses
and a fickle *** - ah itchy! it's pinching! it's pinching!
100 mattresses and still the ****** pea.
then again, staying up all night, then deciding to
climb Arthur's Seat at dawn, getting there, then
climbing down and going to Tesco at 7 a.m. to buy
cornflakes and full fat milk... that was something;
but you know what i'm really thinking about?
it's no longer a maxim, it's a cliche -
               but i'm thinking about it in mathematical
terms -                                from the verb
                           on one side, to the posit or inertia
on the other - there's no grammatical version of what
really becomes a pentagon with five attachment points
primarily - a cul de sac of facts -
                                                            but­ mingling with
grammatical categorisation nonetheless -
          but what i'm thinking about it how to make it
simpler, to use mathematical notation:
i.e.
               i think is an expression
                                       worthy of about 1 centimetre,
  given that thought is a marathon -
                   but i'll just say: could it be anything but
  so differentiated increment divisibility to
              thus provide a sigma? although the expression
is hardly an ad continuum - at some point you
stop thinking, hence to differentiate i think is assuredly
a way to say: well, not constantly - meaning thought
   is not a continuum - and can be talked about in the
same was as talk of god: that's where i place the prime
of ethical action - it's not god... i don't ascribe ethical
action in that direction: just too easy, whatnot with hell
and heaven and goody two shoes waiting for the
big spark of magic or applause and the heckler: well done!
god, dry humour is the best - sarcasm is dry humour -
satire is wet humour... and other than that?
               slapstick, nothing too witty, i hate witty comedy,
they always need canned laughter:
at least slapstick humour makes the effort for you too
make an effort... and it sometimes hurts, so it's real,
when you start flexing that abdomen and get a six smiley
faces on the torso.                anyway,
              looking at my **** it really dawned on me:
  (by the way, Descartes wasn't really out to prove he existed,
   someone thought he did, he was trying to work out a
proof for something that someone else would pick up
   and elaborate)             i think is but a centimetre
                              compared to the marathon of thought -
(sizes in this scenario is perfectly compatible) -
          meaning that               i am          (italics?
emphasis on these to expressions being unitary) is but
                 another centimetre compared to the marathon
   of being                                    or the Antarctic expedition
                      of non-being: i.e. not necessarily
   assembling: what if i wasn't here... but more like:
              what if i did something differently -
again, flea market questions -                        why bother?
    come to think of it: the former unit is more simpler
to encompass - although i agree that the former translates
into the latter: thinking proves i exist,
                            because ex omni instances
         (out of all), there's an equal compatible expression
of mutual exclusiveness: thinking - the two together are
juxtaposed to be allowed a kind relativism -
      but whereas the latter (i am) unit is not only plagued
by the nearest pentagonal absorption via the senses,
but also a definite article / articulation of so many posits
of expression: multiplex verb -
                  the former (i think) unit isn't:
a. plagued by the pentagonal... blah blah blah...
             but rather by a mandala of faculties:
   imagining things, remembering things, dreaming things,
               maybe i shouldn't have said that?
   who knows -
                             the basic thought was
about:           i think is but a centimetre compared
                               to a marathon of thought - a minor fact -
   i am is but a centimetre compared to a marathon of being -
     and to be honest: very few people would take
courage in understanding this glib in the sigma of all things -
imagine football hooligans equipped with this potential...
i can't: i was watching the Everton v. Sunderland today,
and all i could hear was the chant: YANNICK BOLAISE!
            YANNICK BOLAISE! YANNICK BOLAISE!
yes, this kind of writing is a paper mâché -
or a vegetarian starter - but, you know, if you don't
try something new, you'll definitely win a Pulitzer Prize...
  if you don't like it? chop chop, on you go.
i know Descartes wasn't wrong, and i know that
cogito ergo sum wasn't intended to prove anything -
but it did prove a founding block for existentialism,
that's where all existentialists take a **** - Descartes
is the dump where Sartre wrote his being & nothingness,
and Heidegger his being & time...
                        well, key ingredient in someone writing
a sophisticated aversion to time: space, would probably
write something about sitting next to someone on a tube
and writing about sardines and livestock -
                           humanity as a virus, etc. etc.,
   compared with someone writing and thinking out
a statement of: well, isn't this marvellous - so far apart
and clean, and solitary and chuckles.
    i just wanted to use the mathematical comparison,
deviating from the pivot                   therefore     -
   away from each of the unit's verbs and adjective attachments -
  i just wanted to stress that each respective facts,
  are but a centimetre of expression,
   compared with what each evolves into - a marathon
on either side - perhaps it's because that's a necessary building
block to something greater: i can't complain that being
aware of this fact is a hindering beginning -
       i'm not saying that being aware of this maxim is
somehow going to improve your contentment with life -
    geometrically it's not like
                                                      horizo­ntal left to right -
more like vertical left to left-up and right to right-up
             and never therefore - for a reason,
consequently... but rather in parallelism -
                   for no reason whatsoever -
                                              contra-sequential­ly;
unless you know a Queen of Sweden, i don't see how
thinking precipitates into being that might you
leave you satisfied - and let's not a put a ****** on it
either: how many thoughts about killing someone
end up being jokes with a friend late at night?

There's one "special" Holiday, in the **** can I will toss
The Pagan Calibration, of fricking Santa Claus
-
If that ****** Bozo, down my chimney tries to come
I’ll blow his *** away, and beat it like a drum
-
Then I’ll shoot his Reindeer, I’ll have a jolly feast
Hey Rudolf Dancer Prancer, you will be deceased
-
All the Queerass little elves, I’ll blow away as well
And that stinking slay, I will go and sell
-
To the North Poll I will go, with an Atom Bomb
500 megatons!! And drop it with aplomb
-
December 25th, from the calendar I'll wipe
And all the goody-goody "Good Cheer", and all the Farceass Hype

{If you are getting the notion that I don't like Christmas, you are right! Why? I think it's blasphemous to associate the birth of Christ with a Pagan Holiday} {AND the way it's celebrated !!!}

This is to the camera, that sees me as nothing but
Delicate bones and pearly whites
My essence captured through awkward captions and
My worth measured by likes and heart bytes
A photograph carefully composed
Of a girl with her true thoughts [boxed up tight]

This is to the boys who see me as nothing but
Geometric shapes
Circles and curves and parabolas
**** and *** and legs and waist
And an irrelevant concave where my brain should be
My “radical ideas” make me a butterface

This is to the academy, that sees me as nothing but
3.97 and a good SAT score
A scholar of great potential
That will donate millions or more
As an honored alumni
Of the greatest institution in the world

This is to society, that sees me as nothing but
A golden gal who always colored inside the lines
Mrs. Goody-Two-Shoes, no fire in my soles

“She’s never insubordinate, ‘cause she’s never been inclined”
Determined but docile
Go ahead and assume I’m not the rebellious kind

This is to myself, because I see that
My mind is a kaleidoscope of technicolor dreams
Ideas colliding like specks in sunbeams  
And I’ll call myself a feminist or riot grrl if I **** well please
You are not my dictator or an office label machine
It’s 2015; I’ll be whatever the hell I want to be.

For the drone among'st the bees yield neither harvest nor labor,
But yet, upon the great harvest-ments of the others may they savor,
And wheedle and plague society with their coaxing lies,
Let not a drone wiggle its behind into manners with guise,
For they hold their shameful mind and deceitful nature dearly,
Best with evil trickeries, may your mind cloud severely.
Living off your riches 'til you're barren and weak,
And flee'st to another hive should they then for-seek.
Should goody Hesoid warn: to trust them is to trust thieves,
Where the wo of man and its plague from Pandora's box, leaves.

He fell into a bottle
Met the Devil on the way
The Devil chose to ask him
"How long d'ya think you'll stay"
He thought a while and smiled
I'm just here to look around
I'm not sure if I'm staying
"How much whiskey have I downed?"
I'm talking to the Devil
It's enough to make you think
"Son, you've been drunk a month"
"you've made it to the brink"
"You offered up your soul to me"
"A week or to ago"
"But at the rate that you were drinking"
"There was no need to show"
"I figured you'd know when to stop"
"Or at least give it a try"
"But the rate you were consuming"
"I thought you might just die"
"And then I'd have you anyway"
"We wouldn't have to deal"
"It's like praying with an Atheist"
"Imagine how I'd feel"
"You prayed to God, and then to me"
"You offered up your soul"
"You said you'd never drink again"
"If I would make you whole"
"But Man, you drank like crazy"
"Southern Comfort, Jim Beam too"
"You know, we thought we had ya"
"There's no way you'd pull through"
"I figured, I come up and see"
"take your soul, and get it cheap"
"I'd leave you there to sober up"
"Leave you lying in a heap"
"But, whats his name..sent in some help"
"An angel he sent forth"
"And said "You cannot take his soul just yet"
"He knows not what it's worth"
"I told him that you called me
"The deal was nearly set
The Angel said you get his soul
But what does this boy get?
I thought and knew I'd blown it
You were getting nothing in return
I jumped the line a little
Just hoping you would burn
But, God...That Goody Two Shoes
Put a challenge on the floor
We would fight to see who got you
Where'd you want to finish more
So, we're  off on a small road trip
Off to see where you will go
But, boy...the way you drink that stuff"
"I'm already sure I know"
"It may seem like a cliche'"
"I'm sure you've seen it loads"
"It's in every God and Devil movie"
You know it as the crossroads
My champion plays you to win
The loser gets your soul
You play guitar or something else
At least that is the goal
"I don't play any music"
"I can't play the guitar"
"I can't keep tune when whistling"
"Can't find the jukebox at the bar"
"OK then...we'll do something else"
"You know you'll still be mine"
"It would have been much better"
"But, I'll still win you...that's fine"
"Singings out....can you tell a joke"
"nope and surely nope"
"**** it....oops too late"
"I'd have pulled out old Bob Hope"
"You don't steal jokes the way he did"
"And not end up down here"
"I wish I didn't grab his soul"
"I wanna tell ya's all I hear"
" Ok then what is it you do?
"What contest shall we wage"
"I've got a super show room there"
"What can you do up on stage?"
"Dance?".."nope"..."juggle?"...nope
"What can you do real well?"
"Can you play a golden fiddle?"
"We've got four of them in hell"
"We've had showdowns of all shape and size"
"We've done all that one can do"
"We've played music, danced and jitterbugged"
"And now...I'm stuck with you"
"Your'e boring lad, you know that kid"
"God will win your soul no sweat"
"And frankly, you're a failure"
"You're souls not that good to get"
"I thought I had a winner"
"A man whose life was run by vice"
"But, here you are a loser"
"And I could have lost you twice!"
"I should have let God have you"
"I'll be marked out as a fool"
"For the soul The Devil's seeking"
"Should be worthy as a rule"
" I know" he said aloud
"It took some time to think"
"The one thing that I'm good at"
"I can really chug a drink"
"You saw me on my ******"
"You know I'll do you proud"
"I think I'd rather stay down here"
"I think I like the crowd"
That's different, thought The Devil
He's taken up my side
There's nothing in the rule book
It's not a cheat....I've tried
God...he just won't like it
It's not been done before
He comes along to save you
It's your soul he's fighting for
He has to have a champion
One to come and take you on
I've got all the rock stars
And the Rat Pack...bring it on.
Five rounds....five shots
The first one finished wins
I know you'll like it down here boy
There's a multitude of sins
I will pick for two rounds
And God will pick the rest
Contrary to popular belief
He still thinks he's the best
The contest is a snoozer
First Jim Beam and then Old Crow
And God will have his choices
He will lose and then he'll go
At this point one more Angel
Came with choices wrapped in silk
God would like the last drinks
To each be a large milk
Your kidding right, Milk you say
His soul is mine for sure
Let's put a little extra on
Let's bet a little more
The Angel said, God is prepared
To do a bet...a  one-off
If you should win he says next year
The Leafs will make the play-offs
The contest waged and God did win
Four rounds easily hurdled
Then finally the ***** and milk
Got mixed and the milk curdled
The Devil knew the soul he lost
Would come again,....no fear
He knew that another hopeless soul
Would soon come bend his ear....

Perfection,
is an illusion, created by the mocking
sanity of the people
in this newspaper world.

Fairytales were something made up as well-
for the entertainment of children,
to enjoy their life,
their innocence
before reality took it all away from them.

No matter how far I chased the rabbit,
I was not Alice in Wonderland.
And even though the glass slipper fit,
I was not Cinderella.

My Hogwarts letter didn't arrive either;
when I was eleven.

And foolishly, at that time,
I cried.
I cried because my dreams were not real,
and that something this good could not exist in this world.

But-
I do not regret crying.
I cried for everything little in the world-
For my broken pipe that would never shoot water out in a straight line-
For my microwave that would always keep the food cold,
and the refrigerator that would always keep the food warm,
and for the 'tap tap' of the lady's heels
from the apartment above mine.

People say that heaven is a beautiful place
full of anything you could ever imagine.
Would it have all my dreams there, then?
In a plastic goody-bag, prehaps.
A certain one dished out to every person-
Angels looking left and right without a care for identity.

I hate it when my phone gets too warm.
I hate it when my favorite books get wrinkled.
I hate it when I lose my wireless mouse.
I hate it when the internet takes too long to load.
I hate it when the tempature of the room is either too cold, or too hot for my liking.
But I love all those hatreds.
I love how my phone gets too warm, warming my hands up in winter.
I love how my favorite books get wrinkled, so I can lovingly patch them up again.
I love how my wireless mouse always gets lost, because then I have an exuse to buy a corded one.
I love how the internet takes too long to load, because then I can go eat while I'm waiting.
I love how the tempature gets too cold or too hot, because then I can stick an ice cube on my forehead, or bundle up with my favorite scarf in winter.

My mother always told me to be mysef, that I was perfect just the way I was-
I tried,
but all my sentences from that point on would come with a stutter.
"D-Did you hear?"

The voice of the piano that strums so gently beneath my fingers,
I love that sound.  
It was the first time I could be sure-
if music had a face
it would smile,
teasingly,
desparingly,
at me.

And now I'm listening to "Light up the Sky" by YellowCard,
lying on my bed and thinking how much the lead singer
looks like Draco Malfoy.

I love the way poetry sometimes has a shape,
either a diamond,
or a heart.
And I am stunned, when I see those-
In fact, I saw one yesterday,
it was a tiger,
coliling around spairled trendles of
black and white
words.

I wonder how words move people to tears.
they're just words, anyway.
Nothing that would exist if humans weren't here.
but I love the way that I can actually cry
when I hear a beautiful piece of poetry.
I would say 'thank you thank you'
over and over again,
but I couldn't speak for the sound in my head.

And the stereotypical, rentless movies,
on sale-
half price!
at BlockBuster,
I bought them all,
just for the sake of spending some money,
I think.

And I watched them all, alone in the night with nothing but a bowl of popcorn by my side.
They were colorful, crazy, wild
And I drank in that feeling, throwing up my arms
with a freedom that I have never felt before.

I love writing poetry,
because words are truly beautiful.
And I love reading over my old poems, and scoffing at what I thought was eloquent before.
Because that means,
I have grown.
Something Infallible, Like Eternity,
That's a good title.
I love the clicking of keyboard keys, feeling the notch of F and J under my fingers.

And I love this world,
for all its imperfections and mistakes,
becuase then there can always be something better after it.
After all, if you're at the top, all you can do is fall.

Did I tell you?

I’m kind of quiet… no, really, I am. You should see me around people I don’t know…. Ha, yes, I know you don’t believe me… I talk my socks off around you. But, you’re different. You already know the contents of me… I mean, you may not have read every page in detail, but you get the rough draft. Not many people get that. Man, what a stuck up ***** they say… Miss goody two shoes is too good for us… Not all of us are rich like you they say. Oh, how I wish I was any of those things…it wouldn’t sting when they mistook me for anything but the plains, but instead they see skylines and frosted mountains. I am not as complex, I am not as breathtaking, I am not such a climb. It’s funny. i have it together - it appears from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m so tired. I know you know this - but they don’t. They don’t see 14 hour days, 98 hour weeks, 5,784 hour years… of on the go, here you can have my time, my peace, my arms, my legs, my soul. They don’t see that. They don’t see me helping the family when they need food that week..and me not eating. They don’t see my sore back, my restless nights, or the loneliness that follows endless hours. I’m the one missing out… and they think I am better than them. If they only knew how much I wished I could be more like them and less like me…. how they are the morning skies… and I am merely a spectacle to their bold colors. They’re outspoken, care free, sociable, …extroverted. I wouldn’t dare say a word. I know even then they wouldn’t get me… not like you do. I just sit back - quietly, watching, listening, absorbing…an abused sponge from one too many passes on the burnt pan. Ha, that’s me. Still giving my all - in whatever pieces are left of me, trying to shine the world. Silly I am. I’m ready to get out of here… or find myself again, and stop smothering my heart. It’s an out of control fire and my day to day has become the dirt. I think if I exhale in a week you may just see smoke pouring from my lungs… I’m burning out. Can you tell?

What must it have been like thirty-four years ago
For my parents, still with three months to go?
Weddings and funerals days before they had attended
Now one life begins just after another ended.

Nine months the calendar says we must wait
But not for my arrival; just couldn’t risk being late
July was the due date, not any time before
But I arrived instead in April, month number four.

Thinking back on it now, I must quickly pause
And ask what kind of commotion did I cause?
The first cries from my mouth, the first glimpse at my head
What were they thinking about where life had led?

A priest baptized me quickly as a child of the Lord
I gradually improved, and then their spirits soared
Months later I would come to my first and only home
But unlike most children I did not begin to roam

Both said I used my energy to speak
It was almost like I knew my body was too weak
I would give anything to spare them the pain and shock
Of being told by doctors I would never truly walk.

I don’t know for a fact but I’m guessing my dad
Took this news to heart quickly and got really mad
After all, this man wanted to make others feel better
And now his own son was sick?  Here come the four letters

Or was their no sadness between them?  No anger? No pain?
Just a quiet resolve to let normalcy reign?
I suppose in some way they had no choice to make
Just do the best job they could and accept any mistakes.

This may seem strange, but I truly want to know
After being told this, where did they think my life would go?
How did this change their plans for me?
What did they think?  What could I be?

Don’t mistake this for pity; I’m not feeling sad
My childhood was awesome; the best I could have had
A brother and sister who helped, played, teased and fought
Would I change anything, you may ask?  Absolutely not!

Parents who encouraged me to learn, grow, and love life
Never hiding that all of us would one day face strife.
I was never promised anything would be simple or done with ease
But lately I just want to shout “Can I catch a break please?”

Don’t misunderstand, I’m not here to place blame
We all have parts to play in life’s little game.
But sometimes it feels like the wheels have gone off the track
And I’m looking for ways to get the balance back

People often say with a grimace or a frown
That life goes by too fast, and they wish time would slow down.
That is not my main complaint, but if I had to take a crack
It would be that I feel just about a decade out of whack.

Up through high school was pretty much an active blur
Football games, pools, proms, I never really felt unsure
My 16th year passed without trips to Driver’s Ed
But I never really cared because I knew what lay ahead

Graduating HS and then leaving town
Heading to college away from parents?  Nothing could bring me down
That summer and the next four years simply couldn’t be beat
At that point, it seemed like the world was at my feet.

My time at college would change me at my core
Hangovers?  Drug-addled roomies?  Never had those before
I wasn’t totally naïve; I knew all three existed
But voluntarily choosing them just seemed to make things twisted.

Yup, I was a goody-goody; though not quite like the Pope
But whenever things went off script it was hard enough to cope
Like telling a mom her son was kicked out after she asked me
Or when he said, “If the cops come don’t worry; I crashed into a tree.”

I didn’t mind these changes; though many thought I should
If they didn’t serve as a reality check, what else ever would?
Old friends left and new ones were made
Some memories are gone now, but so many have stayed

My first prom date in high school soon went away
Freshman year of college, right before Valentine’s Day
Soon after, a new girlfriend came along for a stint
At that point, I saw what craziness meant.

It wasn’t her fault; that’s not what I meant
We had good times; including a traveling version of RENT
But there was no real spark between us; just one of those things
Very quickly she learned how to pull my strings

Those two people??  Yup, they’re it
Keeps running through my mind
Yet I still believe there is someone
Out there for me to find.

I’ve been out with women since and felt more than a tingle
It’s just that none of them have ever been single
Married, engaged, friendzoned, or my decision
It feels like I’m out on an undercover mission

Online dating pops up in my head
Don’t have the guts to see where that would have lead
Please don’t read this and start to feel sad
It is not intended as a personal ad

I’m bringing it up because all too often
People with disabilities falling in love is all but forgotten
Every time the subject comes out of my mouth
People run for the hills or start heading south

Even friends and family who go back a long way
Often stay silent with nothing to say
Kept waiting for that much hyped talk about safety, women, and manhood
But no one  ever said a word, and I’m not sure they ever could.

I’m not an idiot of course, I know how it goes
Have fun, be respectful and safe, put bros before **’s
These days, I will stop and think   Do people even care?  
Or simply feel like it’s impossible because of the chair?

That’s the million dollar question with an answer unsaid
I don’t regret a single minute of where my life has led
My five nieces and nephews bring more joy than I’ve ever had
But eventually someday, I want to be a dad

Whenever that thought gets some space in my head
I always try and visualize five plus years ahead.
Many logistical questions abound
Could I chase him or her?  Change a diaper?  Pick them up and carry them around?

Be a good teacher of what they should know?
Compassion and hope no matter where time may go?
Give them all of the best things in life?
Without adding a burden to any future wife?

Don’t get ******; I’m not cursing the chair
Or saying that it has become too much for me to bear
It’s my legs, my freedom, and my travel; hope that doesn’t sound cheesy
But I also understand why it may make others uneasy

I don’t drive on my own, can’t dress or shower without an aide
So people don’t worry much about me getting laid
Totally understandable, no problem there
My issue comes when others think I don’t WANT these things or care.

I’ve heard “You drink??” in surprise and “Hey man, you must have pills”
Not screaming back takes all of my will.
“I won’t hurt you; will I?; “Do you smoke **** for the pain?”
Comments like these just drive me insane.

Not all of them are meant with spite
I can tell the difference and am usually right
But it must be out in the open and said without care
That people with disabilities should do whatever they can dare

It’s not always easy; that’s why I started this rhyme
Unexpected obstacles and problems can eat away at our time
But always keep people around who will let you dream
Celebrate your successes, and be there when you need to scream

They may not be the ones you thought or who you knew the longest
But you don’t need physical power to be among the strongest
Even if it takes more time than first thought
Never let anyone say that you should not have fought

Go to concerts, casinos, see the B’s, C’s, Pats, or Sox
Resist when anyone tries to put you in a box
Always give and expect 100 percent; never settle for half
And I guarantee no matter what, you will have the last laugh

To those who may know me,  thanks for being there
In ways big and small, you’ve all shown that you care.
It’s good to get this out with no apology
My next step isn’t clear yet, but no one will stop me!